


Cadenza

by somekindofgnome



Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, F/M, Operas, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Sam Wilson Will Never Recover, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofgnome/pseuds/somekindofgnome
Summary: When you're posted on security detail, covering the back of an important diplomat at the Viennese Opera, Bucky gets bored. Instead of going to sleep, like a normal person, he decides to use your private box to his advantage.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946362
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	Cadenza

You’re at the Viennese Opera when Bucky decides he’s had enough of the mission.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” His breath ghosts over your neck as he leans close to whisper into your ear, fanning the soft tendrils of your hair against the tender parts of your jaw. Once upon a time, your hair was swept into a perfect updo- not so much, after two hours in this godforsaken box.

You’re just lucky that the two of you even _have_ a private box, so that Bucky’s near-constant whispering isn’t met by an onslaught of glares from the audience below. The audience, that holds their coughing like they do their applause.

“Security,” you whisper, jutting your chin toward the box across the way, where Insert Diplomat Here sits with his wife and two pairs of gilded binoculars. And Sam, who drew the short straw and sits alone behind them. Every so often you point your own binoculars toward the box and catch him glaring across at you.

You don’t envy him.

“I thought you were supposed to understand what’s going on,” you continue, smirking to yourself. Bucky deadpans.

“I speak Italian, not _opera._ ” 

You give a little shrug, pursing your lips as if there’s a difference. He scoffs and leans in. His metal hand- surprisingly warm- lands on your knee. It’s bare, thanks to the high slit in your gown. You’re tempted to slap it away, but you leave it there. For now.

“It’s pretty dark in here, huh?” His voice drops to a suggestive register and suddenly he’s leaning closer than he needs to, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear and letting his words vibrate straight down the back of your neck.

“Not dark enough,” you quip. This time you _do_ push his hand away, but he’s not completely thrown off the scent. He lets out a snort, a quiet little rumbling chuckle, and then he’s on you again.

“C’mon. You can’t just walk around lookin’ like that and expect me not to have some ideas.” His metal thumb is smoothing just under the edge of your skirt and you lick your lips despite yourself.

“Baby,” he purrs, bold enough to nip at the corner of your jaw, “I’m _bored_.”

You jump, but swallow your voice _hard._

“Just go to sleep,” you retort. “Like a normal person.”

He doesn’t like that idea very much. His hand crawls further up your thigh. Nervously, you think about letting him get what he wants. The railing that surrounds your box is high enough that your laps are hidden. To an innocent onlooker, it looks like he’s just reached over to take your hand.

“When was the last time I got to see you in a silk dress, hmm?” He continues. He can tell that you’re starting to break, because his voice has gone absolutely _feral_ and he’s not shy about brushing his scruffy chin against your ear.

“ _Bucky,”_ you sigh, letting your head fall back against the chair.

“That’s my girl.” He slides his hand under your dress, and you part your legs as far as you dare to. To your surprise, he doesn’t go right for your underwear. He takes his time crawling his way up your thigh, exploring the skin with the sensitive touch-receptors woven into his new prosthetic.

“Y’know,” he whispers, “I always knew you had a thing for my arm.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. His thumb brushes the spot where your thigh meets your hip. You bite your lip, saying nothing.

He’s right, though. Once upon a time, it was a curiosity. But as the two of you grew closer and the lines between friend and lover bled together, so did your curiosity bleed into fascination.

There’s something tantalizing about the smooth surface of it, the clean lines. It’s a marvel of engineering- and the fact that he can _feel_ you with it is all the more appealing.

In fact, he’s feeling you right now.

He draws a sharp breath, sucking his teeth as his thumb brushes at the silky fabric between your legs. You’re already warm and damp with desire, the fabric of your thong gone soft and pliable. Maybe he’s been staring at you in your gown all night, but you’ve had the unmatchable pleasure and _pain_ of having to see him in that suit.

Tony Stark had no right, sending him to a tailor as accomplished as that. Bucky doesn’t wear his hair pulled back very often, either, but there it is. That little bun at the nape of his neck that drives you absolutely insane.

Bucky’s got his face buried in the crook of your neck as he nudges the silk of your underwear aside. Then his warmed fingers dip into your slit. You feel him start.

“Shit,” he mutters into your skin. “Fuckin’ soaked, baby.”

His dirty language feels too sinful for such an auspicious place, but you try to remind yourself that the performers are probably singing about lewder things, buffered by a language that nobody in the room understands.

He’s not wrong, either.

Bucky presses one finger attentively forward. You purse your lips because this is really _fucking_ happening. The joints of his hand are smooth and seamless with little more tooth to them than a ribbed condom. For _your_ pleasure.

He pumps his finger in and out a few times and you slump a little lower in your seat. One hand keeps the folds of your skirt draped firmly over his wrist. The other slides to the back of his seat, gripping gently to keep yourself stable while he settles into a rhythm.

It’s not long before you’re a panting mess and he’s sliding another finger into you, quickly establishing his rhythm all over again. Just when you’re sure you can’t get more out of this, he crooks his thumb and presses it to the swell of your slit.

This is where the magic happens. Bucky has impossible coordination. You’re not sure _where_ it came from or how he figured out that he could apply it here, but it’s the simple truth. The way he can keep his thumb circling your clit while his fingers strum harmoniously inside you is borderline miraculous.

He gets you there in record time given the circumstances. As the music below swells to a dramatic climax you bury your mouth in his hair and pant through your orgasm, shaking and whining and keening into his diligent fingers. It passes as quickly as it comes on, and his wrist slows to a gentle stop as you slump against his side, spent.

Effervescent applause bursts from the audience beneath you. The celebration feels entirely appropriate, even though you know it’s got nothing to do with you. The performance continues. You straighten up one limb at a time and he draws his fingers from your body. He takes one careful moment to tug your underwear back into place. Then he’s settling back into his own chair, vaguely examining his gunmetal fingers in the low light.

He lifts them to his lips and you avert your eyes, distracting yourself by raising your binoculars again and peering across the hall to check in on your client.

Instead, you’re met with Sam’s traumatized expression, staring back across at you with his eyes wide, jaw hanging open.

“Uh oh,” you mutter, dropping the binoculars and squinting instead.

“What?” Bucky turns to you. He’s obviously finished with his hoer’s d’oeuvre, because he’s wiping his hand idly across the thigh of his pants now. Internally, you pout. _That poor suit…_

“Nothing,” you press. You settle against his side, turning your attention to the actual stage for the first time all night.

Come intermission, you’re dead. Both of you.

Might as well enjoy the performance while you still can.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Day twelve! More thirsty Marvel content. I am trash for Bucky, always. Today's prompt was "Fingering." 
> 
> Drop a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed 💖


End file.
